The Godfather Novel Novels & Stories

Two Days Later Donato told me about Giuseppe Lombardi, Il Grande Capo. He is a very respected man and was the father of Renzo Lombardi, who unfortunately died over a year ago. After his son's death, he retired from his position but still maintains all his businesses, some of which he has entrusted to his most loyal men. Tonight, we are going to his club, The Underworld, a place where many mobsters gather to do business, and occasionally, this ends in problems, although they always try to avoid it so as not to bother Giuseppe.

Godfather muttered. "I woke up one day to see she ran away with some of the clan's wealth and left a note behind. It was all just all a facade from her, it was all just a lie for a her to get to my wealth and once she had what she wanted, she left. So I did what I had to do, I ended her" Godfather said with a dark look on his face The gun fell off Aurelio's hand, making a thud sound of the ground as he looked at Godfather in shock.

With each step she took, his anticipation grew, and his excitement mingled with a hint of nervousness at the magnitude of the moment. For George, since childhood, his life has been just like a game. He became aware of the mafia world early, and his hands got bloody early. Because of that, he was no longer able to dream of having a girlfriend and living in peace. For George, it's a luxury. His father gave him a woman several times, but none of them succeeded until his father died, and he never touched any woman. Many people are starting to doubt his orientation, so there are also a few who send him a man, but he only beats him.

I don't even care that he has people for me to kill or torture, I just don't want to be caught in this mess between him and Enzo. The godfather invited us to dinner tonight because he wanted to speak with us. I assumed it was just going to be Enzo and me, but his entire family is here—well, those with rankings, that is, and their wives, and somehow Gianna and Picolina made it here tonight.

I couldn't take the suffocation I felt. My father didn't stop me. He simply sighed as I made my way past him and into the family room. I wanted to laugh at the irony. I sat on the couch and stared at the piano. I wanted to play but I knew the moment I touched that piano I would break down. I had no room for emotion in my life right now. I was going to be the biggest Mafia Don this world had ever seen. Mafia Dons have no room for emotions or family. My father taught me that early on. “Good Evening Master, Neko is making Dinner. Would you like me to play you a song?” Ayla questioned as she spotted me staring at the Grand Piano.

"Non sono tuo, fottuto pezzo di merda.” Rage scorching hot against my skin, I stormed out of the room, desiring to be away from everyone, to find solace in silence. I needed to leave, I intended to leave, and I had been on my way to the car when I was informed that my presence was needed by The Godfather. Fuck me. The Godfather—St.Louis, was not a man to be messed with. But the fiery glare which he had shot me was all it took to know that I had messed with him.

Everything managed. I pick up my fork. "How long have you known Derek?" He cuts into his chicken. "Ten years. Since he was fifteen." "His godfather." "In name only. I have no children of my own, and his father thought the association would be useful." "Was it?" "For him. Not for me."

He sat down next to me. ​The maids started bringing out plates of food. People started talking again, but the voices were quiet and careful. Nobody wanted to say the wrong thing in front of the Godfather. ​I picked up my fork. I stared at my plate. I couldn't eat. ​Every time I looked up, Alexander was staring right at me.

I packed only my most essential things: a few changes of clothes, my mother’s pearl necklace, the Luccarelli family ring I wore around my neck, and the gun I kept hidden in my nightstand. I walked past the bookshelf and paused, my fingers brushing the spine of an old copy of The Godfather. It was the first thing Vincenzo had ever given me since three years ago, thrown at my head after a particularly tense meeting. “Read this,” he’d said. “You need to learn how this world works.” I’d read it three times. I left it on the shelf. Thirty minutes later, I dragged the suitcase out of the bedroom. Vincenzo was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, a smirk on his face like he’d already won.

The first words on it makes me blink twice…I haven't seen this name in a long time, it's a name that it seems like everyone but me has forgotten. Journal of Gerald Adams, leader of the Phoenix mafia clan. I look at it and look back up at uncle Vito…he's fucking with me. “Go on” he says and I flip through the pages, skimming through heart gripping details of a mafia underworld, of drug dealers and hired killers…all written in my father's unique and irreplicable handwriting. “What the fuck…?“ I whisper, hands shaking as I stare at a picture of my father holding a gun to an already dead man's head and a writing under it: